Olukemi Omoyeni

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Olukemi Omoyeni
Monday 3 May 2021


The day breaks in serration, 

When the soul goes to rest and welcomes the body,

The night is terrific and has injured souls,

But as the moon goes to rest to welcome the sun,

Let my body lay my injured soul to rest 

Let it get the plough and plunder the field,

Lest both become so blanch,

Lest my strength wanes and weasels out

Lest my clansmen call me slothful.

That the yob may not be wasted,

Nor the strength of his youth worn thin.

The night begins in the morning,

Morning when earth hunters cannot be seen,

They are far spent by the perils of the night, 

So that the noble man can jostle without fear.

A morning in disarray is a lost whole day,

Morning, when the tide is friendly and healthy,

When daughters of evil have soften the earth

In the night, with their junta boots,

The only time the sun smiles,

See, sloths cons the morning,

Forgetting the zest that rises with us at dawn.

This vortex of zest, do not thaw but use,

Do not thaw in the pool of slothfhlness,

Till the earth as you rise from your chamber,

Before the mildness of the sun effluxes,

Before the night hounders come through,

Till, that your straits becomes not acute,

A slothful man is a living corpse, 

When morrow comes, you birth your dreams,

Or you squelch it in the pool of procrastination.

It is another morning,

Another chance to rewrite your destiny.



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